


Long Game

by Meloxique



Category: Ozark (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Dry Humping, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloxique/pseuds/Meloxique
Summary: Marty Byrde has no one else to trust.





	Long Game

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no one will read this. I just like Jason Bateman.
> 
> Set mostly in season 2.

You weren’t surprised when you opened the door and saw Marty Byrde. He didn’t have much of an expression on his face, which wasn’t completely unusual, but you could tell this time it was because he was tense. It was actually the same expression he’d had the other night when he was trying to stuff a dead body into his car and had turned around to find you watching him. He’d cursed under his breath then and zoomed off. Now, he said nothing, hands in his pockets.

“Can I help you, Marty?”

“You didn’t tell anyone,” he said.

“Was I supposed to?”

He winced. “No. God, no.”

You shrugged. “Then, if that’s all …” You made to close the door but paused when you saw him blink in confusion. “Marty,” you sighed, “you know I like you and you know I respect you, but you have to stay the fuck away from me. I’m trying to mind my own business, for both of our sakes. I can’t do that if you come knocking on my door when it’s barely morning.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stepped back, clasping his hands in front of him and looking down at his feet as he inched away from you. “Have a good day.”

You watched him cross the street to his own house, then closed the door and went back to sleep.

Marty respected your wishes for the next few weeks. He seemed too busy to do otherwise anyway and it was easy for you to turn a blind eye when curious visitors like the Snells and Sheriff Nix stopped by his house. You still saw his kids at school everyday but that was fine. Until they came to your classroom, asking for a lift home.

“Our mum and dad are out doing God knows what,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes, “and I don’t have my licence yet.”

“Um …” You glanced down at your desk. You had a bunch of papers to mark but you could do that at home if you really had to. You didn’t think it was right leaving the kids to fend for themselves. “Sure. Give me a minute to pack up.”

“Thanks, Teach’,” Jonah said.

You smiled at them as you collected your things, locked the door, and led them to your car. Charlotte hopped into the passenger seat beside you and Jonah got in the back. They kept their attentions on their phones during the drive to Osage Beach, only looking up when the car came to a complete stop.

“You guys are just gonna be alone in the house?” you asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Charlotte said, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“We have Buddy,” Jonah added.

“Oh, right,” you remembered. He was the old man who lived in their basement, the old man who had helped Marty dispose of the body. You pursed your lips. “Why don’t I just stay until one of your parents comes back?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, if you really want to.” She hopped out of the car and headed inside.

“Thanks again for the ride,” Jonah said, following his sister’s footsteps. You cut off the engine and did the same.

It wasn’t the first time you had stepped into the Byrde family home but it was the first time you noticed how many baby photos they had on display, as opposed to any of just Marty and Wendy. You set up shop at the dining table, continuing where you left off with your marking. Jonah lingered around, munching on a granola bar and watching some TV, before he decided to take advantage of your presence and ask about the English assignment he had to do on Don Quixote.

“You know I can’t give you any more help than I give the rest of my students,” you said, amused, “but why don’t you sit here and work on it and I’ll see if I can answer any questions as they come up?”

Jonah was a good kid—a nerd, really—and didn’t have as many questions as he made out he would. He worked in silence for most of the afternoon, which was fine by you. You managed to get all of your papers marked by sundown. Just when you were wondering where their parents were, you heard the front door unlock. 

“Oh,” Marty said, spotting you, “hi.” He set his briefcase down on one of the empty chairs at the table. “What a surprise.”

“The kids asked me to drop them home,” you said.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His eyes flicked to Jonah. “I told Charlotte she could use Buddy’s car.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, gathering your things. “Without an adult present? Come on, Marty.”

“Hey, wait,” he said, holding out a hand as you pushed out of your chair, “Wendy’s gonna be late; why don’t you stay? I was gonna order pizza.”

“Mum said there was food in the fridge,” Jonah said. Marty made a face, which made you smile, but you ducked your head to hide it. Things had calmed down in the weeks you stopped talking to Marty and you had already spent the whole afternoon at his house anyway so you supposed declining wouldn’t do anything but rob you of a free dinner and good company.

You shrugged. “I’m fine with pizza.”

“Excellent,” Marty said. “Jonah, will you set the table, please?”

Marty ordered a few boxes that were delivered pretty quickly and the kids inhaled their food before retreating to their rooms as teenagers were wont to do. You and Marty shared an amused look as the slam of their doors echoed down the hall. In the ensuing silence, you looked away and wondered if it was time to call it a night.

“Do you want another glass?” Marty asked, nodding at your wine.

“Oh. Sure.”

He reached behind him, where the bottle was resting on the island, and you watched as he refilled your glass first, then his. The liquid glowed thickly under the warm lamplight of the dining room. “I never thanked you,” he murmured.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “You’re welcome.”

“I hope you know it wasn’t—” he fiddled with the stem of his glass—“I’m not a killer.”

“Of course not, Marty,” you said, frowning.

He seemed on the edge of saying something else but, instead, he waved his hand. “Anyway, I don’t want to get you involved. More than you already are, at least.”

“Right.” You nodded. “Well, then I guess I should get going.” 

You went through the motions of helping him clean up the table, taking all the dishes to the sink. He put the leftovers in the fridge. “You’re not one for small talk, are you?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. You always cut right to the chase and then run off once your point’s been made. It’s not a criticism,” he said when he saw your expression, “just an observation.”

When he and his family first moved in, you didn’t do much other than wave if you saw them in the yard or let them borrow a spare pair of batteries. If you bumped into Wendy while grocery shopping, you smiled but went on with your day. The most you had said was about the Langmores or the high school if Marty came around asking for your opinion.

“Maybe I’m just like that with you,” you said. You had friends, even a boyfriend. He only seemed to have business partners.

“Why’s that?”

You dried your hands off on a tea towel and faced him. “The more I get to know you …” But you were unsure how to finish that sentence. When you thought about it, you didn’t actually know him. You didn’t know why he had moved here so quickly, why he started snooping around all the local businesses. You had ideas but they would never be confirmed and, though it was safer that way, it made the grounds on which to form a friendship shaky. “We’re just too different, I guess.”’

Marty considered your words. As usual, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Come on,” he said in the end, gesturing to the door. “I’ll walk you home.”

* * *

Time moved so slowly in this town that people latched onto just about any piece of gossip to give them something to do. Ever since he moved here, Marty had been the subject of most of the rumours circulating around. This time, however, it was you. People’s eyes lingered as you entered the Blue Cat. You did your best to ignore them but it made your skin ripple to think complete strangers were dissecting your love life.

Marty was at the bench adjacent to the bar, studying something on his laptop. He had a food basket at his elbow, empty save for the crumbs and remnants of mayonnaise. You nodded at him on your way over to an unoccupied table in the corner. You had spent the first few days cooped up in your house but you really needed the fresh air now. 

Marty closed his laptop and came over. “Hey,” he said cautiously, eyeing the essays you were spreading out.

“Hi.”

“How are you doing?”

You glared at him. “How do you think, Marty?” It was bad enough you got looks from your neighbours on the weekend but, come Monday, your students would be whispering too. Sometimes you hated living in a small town.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Some caffeine would be nice.”

He nodded and excused himself, returning a minute later with a cup of coffee. You softened your expression once you took a sip.

“Mind if I work with you?” he said.

“Fine.”

He brought his things over, mostly forms he had to sign for renovations, and took the seat opposite you. There was silence for a while. You could see where Jonah got it from. They both got the same look in their eyes while concentrating, the furrowed brow, the slight squint. The blue light of his computer brightened his eyes.

He looked up over your shoulder when the door creaked open, his mouth tugging down. You followed his gaze.

“He has some nerve showing up here,” he muttered, getting up.

You blinked in alarm. “Wait, Marty—”

You could only watch as he marched up to your—ex—boyfriend and punched him in the face. Someone gasped in the background.

“I think you know why I did that,” Marty said, shaking out his fist.

Chuck worked his jaw and reached up to wipe away the blood welling on his lip. His recoil had disturbed the usually perfect wave of his hair. A lock now curled over his forehead. He looked about to snap but stopped when he saw you, scoffing a laugh instead. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that.”

“No,” you said, putting yourself between them. “We’re done.” 

His eyes flicked back and forth between you and Marty but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It had been made clear to you as soon as you found him with someone else that you had never been able to tell what he was thinking. He gave you a look, nodding like he had realised something, his eyes hard before he left.

The only noise was from the TV.

Eventually, people went back to their beers and you turned to Marty as he inspected his hand.

“I’ll get you some ice,” you murmured.

He followed you into the kitchen where you wrapped some ice cubes in a tea towel, the silvers doors swinging shut behind him. You pressed the tea towel to his knuckles. He sucked in a breath through his teeth but held the pack there so you could move away to lean against the steel bench behind you.

“Why did you do that?” you said quietly.

“I got ahead of myself,” he said, just as quiet. “I apologise.”

“No. Don’t. I just didn’t know you had it in you.”

His lips quirked. “I guess I’ve been bottling it up.”

“What do you mean?”

He had to push the words out. “Wendy cheated on me.”

“What?” you said, pushing off the bench. “When?”

He shook his head. “Before we moved here.”

“Is that why you moved here? For a fresh start?”

“You could say that, but I’m not interested in reconciling.”

You frowned. “Then why don’t you get a divorce?”

“The kids.”

“Kids are smart, Marty. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I know. We just don’t want to put too much on their plate right now.”

You were beginning to think no one was who they said they were in this town. Marty and Wendy had never seemed like a particularly passionate couple but they worked well together. They were a unit. After so many years together, they had found a routine.

“I guess we’re not that different after all,” he said.

You didn’t know what to say so you hugged him. For a moment, he did nothing, then he put the ice down and wrapped his arms around you. He was taller than he looked and, though he was not exceptionally broad or muscular, it was comforting to be held by him.

The two of you separated slowly. Marty caught sight of the tiny burn mark on your wrist and asked, “What happened there?”

“Shit happens in the kitchen,” you said, which made him chuckle.

Eventually, people found something else to gossip about and Chuck’s infidelity became old news. You stopped making up reasons to avoid talking to Marty and actually became something resembling friends. The walks you had stopped going on because of what you had seen him do that night started again, sometimes even with him, and you began using his boat whenever you needed to take the extra step to get away. Like tonight. 

It was dark as hell. The single light on the dock didn’t have much reach; everything more than a metre away was incomprehensible. You tensed when you heard a twig snap behind you, then footsteps.

“Mind if I join you?” Marty said.

You exhaled. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“You’re the one sneaking around in the middle of the night.”

“Are _you_ really going to lecture _me_ about that?” you said, raising a brow.

“Fair point.”

You snorted. “Come on. You can join me if you steer.”

Marty climbed into the boat first, then extended a hand to help you. His wedding ring left a cold sting upon your skin but you ignored it, settling into the leather seat as Marty guided the boat away from the dock and into the black. The engine provided a rhythmic, almost hypnotising hum to offset the lake’s eerie silence.

“You brought your camera?” he said.

“I was planning on taking pictures of the sunrise.”

“We better head upstream then.”

You were impressed he knew what direction that was. You were pretty much blind. The boat was going at an easy pace, so there was a pleasant breeze running through your loose shirt. When the boat came to a stop, you assumed Marty had found a spot to sit and wait for the sun.

“Seriously,” he said, “why are you up so late?”

You shrugged, though he wasn’t looking at you. “I just couldn’t sleep. Had a lot on my mind. I think I have insomnia.”

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, coming to sit next to you. He must have miscalculated in the dark because he pressed right up against you.

“Nothing you need to know.” You cleared your throat.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tease me like that.”

The way the words slithered right into your ear from how close he was, how quiet it was, had you squirming.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

When you turned towards him, you came nose to nose and his eyes were about the only thing you could clearly make out, a cutting blue. “I was thinking that even though I never want to see you punch someone again,” you murmured, “I can’t deny it was incredibly hot.”

He crashed his lips into yours, hands reaching up to hold your face. You pushed back without thinking about it. His skin was calloused, the rough texture shooting tingles down your spine as his thumbs stroked your cheeks. A small whimper slipped out of you and he pressed closer, tugging your chin down so that your lips parted for his tongue. He tasted like toothpaste.

Both of you were panting when you pulled away. You had your fists in his cotton shirt and loosened your hold before you tore it, but the material was already wrinkled. Absentmindedly, you tried to smooth it down, running your palms over his chest as he studied your face.

“What are you thinking now?” he said.

You tried to see him but it was still too dark. “I’m thinking you’re married and I don’t know if we can take this back,” you said quietly.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he said, leaning forward until the words were against your lips, “I’m not married.”

“No one else knows that.”

“Is that what you want? To take it back?”

“No,” you admitted.

“Then shut up,” he said kindly, kissing you again. You squeezed your eyes shut and threw your arms around his neck. His hands dragged down your body until they came to your hips. He pulled one of your legs over him and you shifted so that you were straddling him, steadying yourself on the railing as the boat rocked slightly. It was a cliché but you fit well together. Neither of you were wearing much in the way of pyjamas so you could feel everything. Locked so tightly, Marty let out a pleased sigh, stroking your hair.

You spent a while kissing each other. Every time you broke apart, you would forget how he felt and have to immediately kiss him again. You cradled his jaw, angling it the way you liked it since you were coming in from above, and he contented himself with slipping his fingers underneath your shirt. He was warm but his touch still made you shiver. He toyed with the outline of your spine, pressing so that you writhed against him. You whimpered as your pelvises knocked against each other.

“You’re a dream,” he murmured. A grunt escaped him when you ground down.

“What are you, a poet?”

You felt his hands begin to push and pull your hips, guiding you back and forth over his growing erection. It was almost painful to be separated by your clothes but you didn’t want to let him go just yet so you continued to dry hump him, earning a moan from him as you went faster and harder. His hands tightened at your waist, his blunt nails grazing your skin, activating goosebumps. The heat between your legs engulfed the both of you.

“Do you think about this a lot?” he said.

“Do you?”

“The last time I saw you at the grocer’s—” he trailed his lips down your neck—“you were reaching up to grab something off the top shelf. You looked so good. I wanted to come up behind you, take you right then and there.” He punctuated the remark with a thrust of his hips, pulling a gasp from you.

You buried your face into his hair. “Fuck, Marty.”

“Chuck is an idiot. A little boy.” He rocked up into you.

You barely registered his words, focusing instead on the sparks in your nerves, the outline of his cock rubbing against you. Your heart was beating loudly, blood rushing to your ears. He felt perfect.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice strained.

“What?”

He tightened his hold on you, moving you over his dick, using you until you were breathless and lightheaded. His teeth nipped at your earlobe. “Tell me what you see when you think about me.”

“I …” You cried out as his cock twitched against you. “I see you in your buttoned up shirts, your sleeves at your elbows. You’re easily the best dressed man in this shithole town.” You stumbled, pressing your cheek to his shoulder as he continued to manoeuvre you. “You walk around with your frown and your clipboard like you own the place. You know what you want and you know how to talk your way out of anything.”

“Or into,” he teased, almost tearing your shorts with how hard his hips were driving.

You whined. “And you provide for your family. You don’t need all that alpha bravado crap. I see you.”

“Fuck!” He jolted and you moaned as you felt him come in his pants, prompting your own orgasm.

For a moment, everything was still, then the cotton was pulled out of your ears and you heard how hard the both of you were panting, the boat rocking in tandem with your breaths. Marty pulled away slightly so he could give you a sweet, lazy kiss, and when you came to, you realised that the world had gotten a bit brighter.

“It’s almost sunrise,” you whispered.

His blue eyes roamed over your face, his fingers in your hair, caressing. “Go on then.”

Reluctantly, you got off him and grabbed your camera, shimmying to the other end of the boat. It was that time of dawn when the sky was just barely glowing, the horizon blue. It was hard to tell where lake ended and sky began. Behind the trees, fingers of pale white sunlight began to curl outward. You pressed the camera up to your face, squinted through the viewfinder, and clicked.

When your eyes shot open, you saw a ceiling. You weren’t in a boat, you were in your bed, and Marty was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Rachel returned out of the blue. She looked a little worse for wear and seemed to want to be anywhere else but you were glad she was here. Her business with the lodge distracted Marty enough to hide the fact that you were avoiding him. You remained yourself when you were around Charlotte and Jonah at school but if you caught Marty’s eye through the car window when he came to pick the kids up, you were quick to turn away where once you would have approached to have a chat. You couldn’t even face Wendy.

That dream had scared the shit out of you. You had woken up with sweat on your brow and a mess between your legs, feeling like you had swallowed an anvil. It was all you saw when you looked across the street at the Byrde family home.

In the event that you never stopped feeling like this, you were prepared to cut all ties with Marty. However, as soon as you came to the decision, Buddy passed away and there was no avoiding his funeral. You briefly said hello to the Byrdes because they were the ones running it, then found a seat near the back. Marty glanced at you but didn’t say anything.

You pushed yourself to go to the reception as well. You didn’t want to be rude. Jonah kept you from feeling too lonely, telling you about the time Buddy had taught him how to shoot a gun and introducing you to Buddy’s old friends who occupied the rest of your time with war stories and whatnot. Despite being neighbours for years, you hadn’t known Buddy all that well. Most of your stories were from when you were a child. He had loved playing up his cranky old man persona during Halloween.

Wendy went around making sure everything was in order while Marty sipped a beer at the bar, talking to Rachel. You weren’t surprised. They had always appeared to be friendly. You used to chalk that up to them being business partners but now you wondered. Rachel’s eyes had always lingered.

The reception lasted until the night. A lot of people left at the same time, most of them not residents of Osage. When Wendy ushered her kids out the door, you took your own leave. Marty was still with Rachel so you left without saying goodbye. You were halfway to your car when you realised you didn’t even have your keys on you. You patted your pockets to make sure.

“Great,” you muttered, turning back around. You hopped up the steps and through the open door and choked when you saw Marty and Rachel kissing. “Fuck,” you coughed as they jumped apart. “Shit. I’m sorry.” You averted your eyes and snatched the set of keys you spotted on the buffet table. “Sorry.”

Marty called out to you, chasing after as you rushed down the stairs. “Wait!” He had to jog to catch up before you reached your car. “Will you just wait a minute?”

“What?” you snapped.

He stopped, eyeing you. “Why are you crying?”

“What?” Alarmed, you checked your reflection in the car window and saw that he was right. “I-I don’t know. I have to go.”

He caught your wrist before you could open the door. “What’s been up with you lately?”

That same rough texture grazed your skin and you ripped your hand away. “Do you like her?”

He frowned. “Rachel?”

“Because you’re being awfully stupid,” you continued. “What if I had been Wendy or the kids? Or anyone else, for that matter? I thought you were trying to pretend you were the perfect family. The door wasn’t even closed, for God’s sake.”

“Whoa, hey.” He stepped closer, forcing you to back up against your car. “You’re right but why are you getting angry?”

“Do you like her or not?” you yelled.

“I don’t know!”

It echoed and you glanced up at the lodge to see if Rachel had heard.

“I don’t know,” he said, quieter. “Why do you care?”

You unlocked your car. “I don’t. I gotta go. Sorry again about Buddy.” You drove off and he watched you with a frown that you could see in your rear-view mirror. You hit your steering wheel angrily. You were an idiot.

You doubled your efforts in avoiding the Byrdes the next few weeks and, when the weekend before school break finally rolled around, you decided it was in your best interest to drag yourself to the Rusty Hull and see if a nice, single, young man would flirt with you. If you were lucky, since it was in the next town over, you wouldn’t have to deal with any familiar faces. 

The Rusty Hull had never been a particularly crowded establishment. Its patrons mostly consisted of a few regulars and even fewer tourists looking to break up their long drives. The jukebox was crooning an old song and a group of guys were placing bets at the pool table. You took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, feeling a bit out of place. You hadn’t been here in a while, especially not by yourself. 

It was a slow night. No one came in for a while and, even then, no one you liked the look of. The bartender must have taken pity on you because he struck up a conversation when he wasn’t busy working. He was nice. He wore a flannel and had some stubble on his jaw, darker than the blond hair on his head. He was extremely tall. The amber lights of the bar brought out the gold flecks in his otherwise green eyes.

“Not your lucky night, huh?” he said with a smile.

“Seems so.”

“Can I get you a refill?”

“Thank you.” You handed him your glass, your fingers brushing. From the flicker in his eyes, it had probably been on purpose. You watched him prepare the same drink you had ordered twenty minutes ago. He got a cute crinkle between his brows when he concentrated that sold you, so as soon as he came back, you asked, “How long ‘til your shift is over?”

He ducked his head, almost shyly. “An hour. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”

“Not at all,” you said, hiding your smile behind your glass.

You got to talking in the meantime, telling him you were a teacher at Lakeside Valley. His nephew went there and he brought out his phone in search of a picture of him, but then you both got distracted by his other photos. He left you to look at them while he tended to another customer.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Whatever’s on tap is fine.”

You froze at the familiar voice. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the bartender fill up a glass and then excuse himself to get another barrel for the tap. You tried to go back to rifling through his phone but you didn’t much feel like it anymore.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Marty said softly. He sounded wet and heavy and, when you forced yourself to look at him, you saw that his eyes were red.

You frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” He just stared off into space, his beer untouched. Cautiously, you moved over onto the seat next to him and touched his hand. He glanced at you. “Did something happen?”

“I can’t talk about it,” he said, studying the way your fingers hovered over his. It had been your decision to steer clear of whatever business he was up to but you still felt disappointed, helpless. You had never seen him cry before. You looked down at the bartender’s phone in front of you, the screen locking from inactive use.

“Come on,” you sighed. You felt his eyes on your skin as you stood up. “I’m taking you home. Did you drive here?”

He shook his head dazedly. “Got dropped off.”

“Okay. Let’s go?”

“What about—” His eyes flickered to the back door the bartender had disappeared into. You just rolled your eyes and headed for the exit. Predictably, he followed.

“Didn’t take you for the drown-your-sorrows type,” you said in the car.

He scraped a hand over his face. “It’s been a rough night.”

The rest of the car ride was silent. When you got to Osage and pulled up to your street, he made no move to get out. He just looked out the window, at the faint outline of his house in the dark. You placed your hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me.”

“No.” He turned to look at you with a sad smile. “Can you just stay up with me?”

“Yeah,” you said. You brought him to the bench of your front porch, draping a blanket over his lap and letting him get comfortable as you went inside to make some tea. Whatever had happened, whatever he had done, it took the life out of him. It scared you and it felt pointless to try staying out of his business when not knowing anything still affected you this much.

He barely murmured his thanks when you handed him his mug. You sat down beside him, stealing half the blanket. His eyes followed the paths of the moths fluttering around the porch light. You were spacing out yourself when he took your hand. You blinked and looked down as he ran his thumb back and forth over your knuckles. 

“You’re the only one I trust,” he murmured. 

You wrapped your arms around him and brought his head under your chin and stayed that way.

* * *

You had woken up alone that morning with a sore neck but the blanket tucked around you and the mugs in the dishwasher. For the next few days, Marty never seemed to be home. You didn’t pay much attention to the news but you heard that the casino he and Wendy had been working hard to get approved was finally in the works and that the Byrde family would be attending a fancy press event today to celebrate.

You, on the other hand, had plans with some other teachers from school. You spent the night drinking on the lake, listening to the others share funny stories about their wildest students. When it came to their attention that you taught Jonah Byrde and lived across from him and his family, you were grilled about all the rumours surrounding Marty.

“I really don’t know,” you said uncomfortably. “I hardly talk to him.”

At that moment, your phone pinged, saving you. You checked your messages as your friends moved onto another topic. The text was from Marty.

‘Hi. Sorry for worrying you the other night. Is it all right if I drop by later?’

‘Sure,’ you wrote back, feeling nervous for some reason.

You were dropped off safe and sound later in the night and had time to clean yourself up before there was a knock at your door.

“Hey,” you murmured, letting Marty in. He was still in his suit, making you feel underdressed. “How was the thing?”

He smiled slightly. “Boring. How was your night?”

You shrugged. He had brought a bottle of wine and his own wine glasses and he looked much better than the last time you saw him, though not his best. “Something the matter?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. “I just wanted to see you,” he said.

“Why?” You led him into your living room, where he deposited the wine on the coffee table and shrugged out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa. As you both sat down, you stared at him. He always seemed to have a million calculations racing in his mind but, tonight, he looked blissfully empty, like he was throwing all caution to the wind.

“I can’t seem to shake you,” he admitted, his voice low. He looked down at his hands with a shake of his head. “But I don’t want to involve you.”

“I want you to.”

He snapped his gaze up to yours.

“I want you to,” you repeated, softer. “I don’t care anymore. I want to get to know you.”

He leaned over to pour you both some wine, giving you time to reconsider, but you had already made up your mind. After taking a sip, he began. You learned about Bruce, about the cartel, about what he did for them and why he had been forced to move his family here. You learned that he looked like a wreck the other night because he had accidentally shot and killed the pastor. You thought back to the night you had seen him with that dead body. You were a little in shock to hear it from the horse’s mouth but you weren’t surprised and your opinion of him hadn’t changed. You ignored what that said about you.

“I completely understand if you don’t ever want to associate with me again,” Marty said.

You scratched your neck. “I think we’re past that point, wouldn’t you say?”

“I hope so.”

You glanced up at him over the lip of your wine glass. His eyes flicked down to study his hands again as they fidgeted. You reached out and smoothed a thumb over his brow. “You can stop frowning now,” you murmured. Before you could pull away, he caught your wrist. He looked at it like he had never seen it before, stroking your skin. Goosebumps travelled up your body. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered back.

He licked his lips. You curled your fingers around his, admiring his face as it came closer. He was handsome in a way that crept up on you. No one would look twice at him if he walked down the street but here, now, he made you a little dizzy, with his rugged hair and pale eyes and the charming smile lines that betrayed his age.

You came to when you realised how close you were to him. You cleared your throat, polishing off your wine and glancing at the clock. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. He slowly got to his feet and held out his hand when you swept up the wine. “Keep it.”

You walked him to the door, wishing time would slow down. “Okay,” you said as he stopped on your porch, “goodnight.”

“Night.” He kissed your cheek and you closed the door behind him.

You hadn’t taken a step before there was a knock. You answered with a frown. “Did you forget som—”

Marty smashed his lips against yours. His hands flew up to your jaw. Surprised, you stumbled back. He followed. He blindly felt around for the door handle and pushed it closed before leading you to the nearest wall so he could have you pressed as close to him as possible. Your heart hammered at the feeling of his skin against yours, how warm he was, how firm. You carded your fingers through his hair, moaning as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You fought with him for a minute, his hands reaching down to squeeze your waist as you pushed back with your own tongue. He pinned your pelvis to the wall with his hips and broke away to catch his breath.

“Was that okay?” he panted.

“Don’t stop,” you muttered, dragging your lips up his jaw so you could mouth at his ear. His eyes fluttered shut. You worked to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. His abs weren’t that visible but you could feel them ripple under your palms as Marty cupped the back of your head and encouraged you to kiss his lips again. He cradled your face in his hands, losing himself in your touch, all of the tension and frustration and stress and fear seeping out of him until he was boneless against you.

Doing your best not to break apart, you tugged him upstairs to your bedroom. He skimmed his hand underneath your T-shirt, a shudder coursing through you at the roughness of his skin, and you reached down to unbuckle his belt. The sound of his zipper was music to your ears. As he was stepping out of his pants, you pushed him onto the bed, causing him to trip and stare up at you in surprise. You climbed on top of him. His erection brushed against your thigh and you swallowed at the noise he made when you began to stroke him through his briefs.

“Fuck,” he sighed, thrusting into your hand. You allowed him to strip and then your mouth was on his balls, sucking for dear life as he pumped his own cock. “Oh my God.” You licked a stripe up his shaft, then took the tip into your mouth. He clenched your shoulder, his head digging back into the mattress. You swatted his hand away to replace it with your own, using his pre-cum to get him all slick as you continued to blow him. His hips jolted every time your teeth accidentally grazed his skin. In a strained voice, he muttered, “Get up here. Please.”

As soon as you were face-to-face, he flipped you onto you back and devoured you in a rough kiss while his fingers trailed down to tear at your underwear. You moaned when he entered you. He went slowly, fitting your legs around his waist and propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch your face contort in pleasure. He would have stayed at the same pace for a bit longer but then you whined his name and he snapped.

He drove deep inside you. You gasped, clutching at his back, his shirt protecting him from your nails. “Oh, God,” you sobbed. It took a minute but you eventually matched his rhythm. You met him thrust for thrust, rolling your hips to try to get him to sink down as far as he could go. You clenched around him and he jerked forward with a curse, going faster.

“Say my name,” he grunted.

“Marty.”

“Louder.”

“Marty!”

“Scream it!”

“MARTY!”

You came fiercely. He followed, his cock twitching inside you and filling you up. You dug your heels into his back to keep him in place, whimpering as he continued to rock his hips. He peppered kisses all over your neck and, with your chests pressed together, you could feel how fast his heart was racing. You absentmindedly smoothed out his hair as you tried to catch your breath.

“You’re a dream,” you mumbled.

He kissed you sweetly and rolled over so you were in his embrace. He pulled the blankets over the both of you. “I’m right here.”

And, indeed, when you woke up the next morning, he was still there.


End file.
